


One thousand, eight hundred, ninety-four

by pukajen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukajen/pseuds/pukajen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is enough evidence all throughout Sherlock's life to prove that John is back in it, is part of Sherlock's mad life again, on case, off cases, that they are more to each other than ever before. </p>
<p>It's the more that is nearly unfathomable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One thousand, eight hundred, ninety-four

**Author's Note:**

> Since losing my netbook, I haven’t felt like writing at all. Back up everything, kids. Losing pictures form Venice and London (all my Hamlet pix, all the places prime-meridian I went) hurts a lot, as does losing everything I’ve written since May.
> 
> BACK UP! ALWAYS.
> 
> At any rate, needed to start writing again. Nothing fancy, but I hope you enjoy.

It's hard at times to believe that this is all real. 

There are moments when Sherlock has to stop and take a deep breath, to realise that, yes, John is back in 221 B Baker Street (name back on the lease and clothes in the wardrobe, socks indexed whether he likes it or not (not), books mixing with Sherlock's, whisky in the cupboard, RAMC mug drying on the dish rack), that, yes, John is no longer married (technically, he never was, what with Mary having supplied a false name and everything), and that, yes, John isn't heartbroken about the end of his marriage (turns out Mary trying to end Sherlock with a bullet actually killed John's love).

However, there's so much more. 

There is enough evidence all throughout Sherlock's life to prove that John is back in it, is part of Sherlock's mad life again, on case, off cases, that they are more to each other than ever before. 

It's the more that is nearly unfathomable.

That John now shares his (their) bed every night (more, John sleeps downstairs regardless if Sherlock is there or not). The he gets to kiss John every day (more, that John expects Sherlock, want, needs, Sherlock to kiss him every day, many times a day). That he and John have explored (many, many, many, many, many times) every part of the other, tasted, licked, caressed, kissed.

It's that Sherlock doesn't need to count any more the times that John has said 'I love you' to him Sherlock still does. As if this morning it was one thousand, eight hundred, ninety-four times. That he's aware of. (Sherlock often whispers his love to John when John is sleeping and he likes to believe that John does the same to him.)

Sometimes (at least three times a day), Sherlock needs to go deep inside his mind and make sure that all of the precious memories are stored and saved. (Just in case.) (Not that there would really be a 'just in case' as Sherlock knows with a certainty that he can not, will not, ever live in a world without John Watson.)

Still, it's good to have everything in its place. 

“Done organising then?” John asks. He's sitting in his chair, book open, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock can tell from the way that he's holding his book that John has been studying Sherlock for at least six, seven, no, six minutes. 

“Yes,” Sherlock says, lowering his hand from under his chin.

“Putting the poisons used in the last case in their proper place?”

“Putting us in order,” Sherlock answers absently and freezes. He has promised to never lie to John again, to always answer honestly, even if it might put them in danger. 

“Us?” John asks, quirking a brow. “We need ordering?”

“Our time together does or else it overruns everything.”

“How much of us can there be?” The smile John is giving him twists Sherlock's insides in the most pleasurable way.

“All of it. Everything.”

“We've only been together four months.” 

“Six years, two months, two weeks, and two days.” 

John's book hits the floor and he stands and cross to the sofa.

“You've kept everything since the beginning?” John asks, eyes locked with Sherlock's.

“How as I to know what was important then?”

“Surely, by now you know what's important and can delete the rest.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agrees, he doesn't add that everything is important.

From the look on John's face, he didn't need to, John deduced it. 

“You mad, brilliant, gorgeous man,” John murmurs. Bending down, he kisses Sherlock. The angle is bad, but that doesn't matter to either of them. Mouths open, tongues caress, and it feels like the most amazing rooftop chase and the cosiest night at home together all at once.

Far too soon, John pulls back, the smile on his lips (in his eyes) warms Sherlock's to the very centre of his being. 

“Tea,” Sherlock says, not wanting to get too soppy at half-one in the afternoon. “It's your turn.”

“You make it better.”

“True, but it's your turn.”

“Everything, yeah?” John asks as he straightens.

“Everything,” Sherlock confirms.

“Fuck, but I love you.”

One thousand, eight hundred, ninety-five.


End file.
